


A Small Matter of Respect

by FancyFree2813



Series: Layers (originally named The Goofy Mountie Series [1]
Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Gen, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26804818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyFree2813/pseuds/FancyFree2813
Summary: Constable Turnbull has a secret identity.
Series: Layers (originally named The Goofy Mountie Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954873
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	A Small Matter of Respect

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a series of stories that was originally called The Goofy Mounties Series, later to become Layers. There are 26 stories in the series and two recently written novel length additions that take place in the Layers Universe. They do build on each other so it is necessary to read them in order. There are other stories not a part of the Layers series that do introduce characters that I used in Layers. I will put a note on those stories.

'The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood' by Howard Pyle is from a children's book of short stories entitled The Family Treasury of Children's Stories. Ride Forever was written (of course) by Paul Gross and David Keeley for Don't Blink Music Inc. and the Circle Game was written and composed by Joni Mitchell for Asylum Records.

The ‘Gulliver Turnbull’ scene in Bounty Hunter inspired most, if not all of this story. It started out as one piece but developed a mind of its own and is now a four-parter “A Small Matter of Respect”.

This is a story that takes place sometime in the 3rd season. All major characters are included. There are no spoilers that I am aware of.

A Small Matter of Respect

By Shirley Russell

Chapter 1

Mister Mountie to the Rescue

Constable Renfield Turnbull knew beyond any doubt that he was once again in trouble. In rushing to answer the phone on his desk he had sent the vase full of flowers crashing to the floor. Her flowers. Her just delivered, she hadn't even seen them yet, flowers. The Inspector’s flowers. As he stooped to try to salvage the roses and his career he wondered if life really was worth living.

Of course Constable Fraser would have given him the long suffering, ‘Oh dear, I just don’t understand’ look. The look that spoke volumes without his actually having to say a word. Oh no, words would be left for Inspector Thatcher, loud angry words that he more than deserved. To his way of thinking anyway.

Turnbull knew from ample experience that the flowers were beyond help, as was he. He could hear her moving toward her office door, coming toward the Consulate foyer in response to the sound of shattering glass. “Oh dear.”

“Turnbull! What have you done this…?” As she rounded the corner there was no need to complete the sentence, she could see the answer. Pointing at the mess on the floor, “And those were …?”

He was torn. Should he stand at attention or continue his attempt to clean up the mess? He decided being upright would enable him to better absorb the verbal blows that were about to rain upon him. He straightened to attention and, without meeting her eyes, handed her the card that had been attached to the vase, “These…these were just de…delivered for you ma’am.” Staring intently at his boots, “I…I am very…very s…sorry.” He stammered as he steeled himself for the onslaught.

She read the card and sighed. Her anger did not dissipate, however. “Yes Constable, it seems that you are very sorry quite often. However, that does nothing to replace my flowers, now does it?” She hesitated long enough for Turnbull to wonder if she was through with him. He could not believe that this was all however, he would never have had such good fortune. He glanced up and cringed when he saw the look on her face. There was definitely more coming.

“Turnbull, you have be a member of the RCMP how long now? Never mind, I don’t want to know. Do you have any idea what the Americans think of you, what kind of example you set…” She was angrier than he had ever seen her but – ample experience had also taught him that her questions were rhetorical. She definitely did not want a response. He remained silent.

His silence did nothing to calm her anger. When, without warning, she turned on her heel and returned to her office, Turnbull did not move. He was totally confused by her action, was he supposed to follow her? Stay where he was, at attention? Or perhaps disappear into the woodwork? He wanted to disappear of course, but he just wasn’t sure…

She returned as abruptly as she had left and shoved a file folder at him. “Take these documents regarding the Jacques Dupre extradition to Constable Fraser at the 27th Precinct. Lt. Welsh needs them ASAP. You will have to hurry and as I will be using the Consulate car you will have to walk.” She felt vaguely uneasy about sending him out in the oppressive Chicago heat in his wool uniform, but he deserved to be uncomfortable for awhile. “While you are gone Constable, I want you to consider your immediate transfer to another posting!One as far away from your current location as is humanly possible!”

The Constable gaped at her. “Sir?”

“Dismissed!” But Turnbull was frozen in place. He was unable to move, his chin having dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. “Get going, Constable. NOW!” She again turned on her heel and slammed her office door behind her.

“Oh dear,” he muttered as he ran out the door. He had known that she would discipline him, but he assumed it would be something in the realm of sentry duty for the rest of the foreseeable future, not transfer! He couldn’t leave Chicago, there was too much… He’d have to talk to her tomorrow, after she had had time to calm down and reconsider. Oh dear, she never reconsidered once she had made up her mind. That was one thing he could always count on, once she had decided it was law. Oh dear!

By the time he reached the police station he was quite literally hot under the collar. Living most all his life near Vancouver had not prepared him for the intense heat and humidity of Chicago summers. Standing sentry duty had almost done him in a few times, but it was nothing compared to the way he felt now. Woozy was an apt description. Dizzy and lightheaded also fit.

The interior of the station offered little relief, as the air conditioner was woefully inadequate to compete with the 100-degree temperature. The incessant humming of ceiling fans and the usual racket and congestion of the squad room only served to intensify his discomfort. He noticed that everyone else around him seemed decidedly grumpy as he tried to make his way through the crowded squad room. The heat was obviously affecting everyone, even those who were used to it.

During his hurried trip to the station he had come to a decision. He would speak privately with Constable Fraser as soon as possible. He hoped he could enlist the aid of the other man to speak to Inspector Thatcher on his behalf, Fraser had certainly taken up his cause on other occasions!

He saw the unmistakable red serge clad back of Fraser from across the room. The sight of another RCMP uniform was always a comforting sight. It made him feel a little less alone in the big city of Chicago, a little less like an enigma. A little less like he was center stage with a spotlight was shinning on him. With Constable Fraser around people rarely noticed him at all. He smiled as he drew closer; he so admired Constable Fraser.

As he approached Detective Kowalski/Vecchio's desk he realized the Detective and Constable Fraser were having a none too private discussion and were not aware of his presence. As he came closer he was able to discern most of the conversation. He was not eavesdropping, he just could not help but hear.

“Dammit Frase, where is he? He’s more of a freak than you are, ya know? Only he’s really a total freak, yer just a sometimes freak. He prob’ly got lost. Hell, he’d get lost just walkin’ to the front door of the Consulate. If he doesn’t get here pretty soon Welsh’ll have our butts.” Ray ran his hands through his experimental hair as Fraser nodded in what Turnbull interpreted as silent agreement. “Ya know the man’s a complete idiot? How the hell did someone like him ever get ta be a Mountie? How ya put up with him?” Ray made no attempt to hide his anger.

Turnbull was once again frozen in place, if the term frozen could apply to someone who was so overheated. He realized, of course, that he was the idiot to whom Detective Vecchio was referring and he was hurt. But what hurt more than Vecchio’s words was Constable Fraser’s reaction, his tacit approval of all that the detective had said

Lt. Welsh had seen Turnbull enter the squad room and was anxious to get his hands on the file the onstable was carrying but he hesitated in the doorway of his office just long enough to hear a portion of Vecchio and Fraser’s conversation. “Uh, gentlemen, do you think you could suspend your character assassination long enough to get your butts and that file Constable Turnbull has kindly brought us IN MY OFFICE?” Welsh gave Turnbull a perfunctory nod and retreated into his office.

Fraser and Vecchio were astonished to see the red faced Turnbull standing behind them. Without making eye contact Turnbull shoved the aforementioned file into Fraser’s midsection, then turned and hurried out of the squad room.

Fraser moved to stop him as Welsh bellowed from inside his office, “Now, gentlemen!”

“Jeez Frase, sorry. Didn’t mean fer him ta hear me. It’s this damn heat, everybudy's on edge. I’ll apologize or sumthin’ later.” Ray felt badly about what he had said, but even worse that he couldn’t do something about it right now. He was a right now kind of guy, after all.

Fraser just nodded and dragged a thumbnail across his brow. “We’ll talk to him after this extradition matter is settled. Sometimes he overreacts to things,” he muttered. Although this time he was afraid that what had been said could never be unsaid. He stared in the direction of Turnbull’s retreat, sighed and walked slowly into Welsh’s office shaking his head.

Renfield hurried down the street, letting his feet determine his direction. He paid no conscious attention to where he was. He had forgotten his physical discomfort and was focused on his emotional pain. He’d heard words like Detective Vecchio’s before. They still hurt of course, but he had come to accept them as a fact of life – his life. What he couldn’t accept was Fraser’s reaction. There was no one he knew whose respect he desired more and had tried so tirelessly to earn. Obviously, he had failed. Just now he realized how badly he had failed.

Not only did he realize he had failed, but he also now knew that he had no choice but to make the decision as to where his next posting would be. He wondered briefly if the moon was far enough away for Inspector Thatcher.

Without conscious effort he arrived back at the Consulate. Realizing where he was he glanced toward the parking lot and determined that Inspector Thatcher had not yet returned. For the first time today he was grateful to God.

He heard the children giggling behind him as he started to open the Consulate door. “Oh dear,” he muttered as he sighed deeply. He hesitated for a long while. He knew that he must appear upset, and he couldn’t face them that way. It would not be seemly to present anything but his best Mountie face to them. It took all his courage not to disappear inside the Consulate without acknowledging their presence. After several long moments he gathered all his nerve, pasted on his best smile and turned around.

“Howdy doody, my diminutive friends.”

“Hi Mister Mountie!” a chorus of children’s voices called to him. “We’re goin’ to the park fer a picnic. Ya wanna come with us? Please? Miss Susan says you ken come.”

“Please?”

“Pleeeeeease?”

Turnbull smiled as he went down on one knee to meet their eye level. By this time, his smile had changed from forced to genuine, in that there was nothing that could drive his problems away faster than the presence of children. He looked over the tops of 8 six-year-old heads to the concerned eyes of their companion. “Oh, she said I could come, did she?”

He straightened up and greeted the pretty young woman, “Hello, Miss Harris. How are you and your young charges today?” She looked just like summer. Her red sundress printed with white daisies and her straw hat reminded him of strawberries and cream that he had had as a child visiting Wimbledon. She also reminded him of things he had tried so desperately to forget…

She saw the cloud pass through his eyes but then his entire appearance concerned her. “Actually I was going to ask you the same thing. Is everything all right, Constable?” She tried to keep the concern out of her voice since these kids picked up on everything and she didn’t want to worry them.

“Everything is just fine. I do, however, seem to have gotten a little overheated walking to my errand at the police station.” At least it was a portion of the truth.

“You WALKED to the station? Both ways? That's got to be at least 4 miles! In that wool uniform? Are you crazy?” She kept her voice low, but he heard the recrimination. “Here, drink this now!” She handed him the bottle of water she was carrying. “You could have gotten heat stroke! Or worse! At the very least you’re probably dehydrated!”

He cringed at her harsh words. Today was certainly his day for them. At least she hadn’t come right out and called him an idiot. She saw his discomfort and placed her hand lightly on his arm. “I’m sorry, Constable. I didn’t mean to be cross with you. It’s just that you’re not used to this heat and humidity. I’ve lived in Chicago all my life and I’m not used to it! And you insist on wearing that blasted wool uniform!”

“Miss Harris, please! I’m very proud of my –”

A pretty little girl with long black, curly, slightly sweaty hair interrupted them by pulling on his tunic. “Mister Mountie, please come with us. We wanna play ball, and we gots bologny samiches and peanut butter and jelly and apples and juice and chips!”

“That’s you _have bologna sandwiches,_ Amber.”

“Yeah, bologny samiches.”

Turnbull smiled warmly at the young girl. He hesitated however, as he looked back toward his now temporary place of employment, then sighed. There wasn’t much he could do here anyway, so there really wasn’t much of a decision to be made. “How could I possibly refuse such a sumptuous repast? Okey dokey. Let’s go!” He agreed, locking the door behind him.

“Yipee!” Another one of the little girls grabbed his left hand as two others fought for his right.

“Oops, sorry little ladies, I think I need this hand to help another lady.” He turned to Susan Harris, relieved her of the heavy picnic basket and proceeded to follow several skipping children down the block.

Susan frowned at his back. There was something wrong, something more than being overheated. She was concerned for her friend, he was such a good, decent man she didn’t like to see him upset.

It was only a couple of blocks to the park, but she purposely slowed their pace. His color was returning to normal but she was still concerned about the heat and that darned wool uniform jacket. What had he called it, a tunic? Was the temperature always below freezing in Canada? Why didn’t they have summer weight uniforms like every other civilized country? She’d just have to see about this!

When they arrived at the park Susan selected a shady spot under a willow tree to spread a blanket and set up their lunch. Lunch would have to wait, however, as the children had other plans. The boys had brought a red rubber ball from school and were determined to play dodge ball, with Mister Mountie being “it”.

Susan grabbed the ball away from him. “Oh no, you don’t! There is NO way I’m going to let you run around in the sun playing with those wild kids in that wool jacket.”

“Miss –”

“Nope, no way! Eight six year olds are more than enough. I will not have an unconscious Mountie on my hands too. Take off the boots and jacket and give them to me. I promise I will guard them with my life. Otherwise it’s no dodge ball. That’s final!” She smiled at him but he knew she was serious.

Eight sets of child eyes pleaded with him. They knew she was serious too, and when she took that tone of voice they knew not to argue. Turnbull was undecided. Being out of uniform in public was totally unacceptable, but disappointing the children was…oh dear.

As he began reluctantly unbuttoning the tunic the children cheered and Susan sighed in relief. He removed the jacket, carefully folded it and handed it to her. She had to smile at his embarrassment, he was wearing cotton T-shirt and braces underneath, but had obviously never been quite so unclothed in public.

“Okay, off with the boots and then you’re free to play to your heart’s content.” The look he gave her could only be described as stricken. “I promise I’ll guard them with my life. Go!”

It took him a few minutes to relax enough to fully participate in the game, but one direct hit to the back of his head and he joined in full force. Susan winced. “Ouch, that had to hurt!” she laughed as she watched the children attack.

After several more attempts to bring him down the game deteriorated into a sort of organized chaos with Mister Mountie as the target and his attempting to keep them from hurting each other. And of course Susan sitting under the tree rooting for the kids. Running around in circles and wildly throwing the ball at anything that moved became the game of choice for the next hour or so.

Finally, when he could no longer breathe Turnbull gave up. One of the boys yelled “sneak attack!” and suddenly Mister Mountie was on the ground with eight children on top, tickling him. Now he really couldn’t breathe, he was laughing so hard. “Uncle, uncle. Let me up!” Except he was laughing so hard he couldn’t get up and needed Susan to help him.

Eight very tired children and one exhausted Mountie collapsed on the blanket in the shade of the willow tree. “How about something to drink while Mister Mountie catches his breath and then something to eat?” Susan opened and passed around some juice boxes and poured Turnbull a glass of iced tea from a thermos. “Juice for the victors and tea for the vanquished.” She smiled at him as she handed him the plastic glass. He was looking much more relaxed than he had earlier. Worn out, but relaxed. She sincerely hoped that whatever was bothering him had been at least temporarily forgotten.

They chatted as they ate sandwiches and chips. That is to say Susan chatted and Turnbull listened. He enjoyed her company so much and thought her to be a very interesting woman. He just wished she didn’t remind him so much of …well enough of that!

She saw that cloud pass over his eyes again and silently hoped she hadn’t said something inappropriate.

When the children had moved into small groups on the grass and were mostly out of hearing she finally asked, “Constable…Renfield…is there something I can do to help? I can tell there’s something bothering you –”

“No really it’s nothing…”

Susan was watching his eyes as the change came. It was as if he had drawn a window shade down over them so she could not longer look into his eyes, she could only look at them. She felt a great sadness come over him as she watched.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. Let’s talk about something else.” She quickly cast about for a more neutral topic. “Have you noticed the change in Maria? I think you are responsible for that.” They both looked toward Maria sitting with her friend Amber.

“It’s hard to come to a strange country and try to fit in…” Drat, he really hadn’t wanted to go there. Please, Lord, let her drop it here.

“She seems to be making friends, with a lot of help from you, you should be proud of that. Did you have the same feelings of loneliness –”

Daniel ran up and dropped down at their feet, interrupting her as he did. “Mister Mountie, read us some more about Robin Hood?” The other children heard Daniel and were upon the man in an instant. “Yeah, some more Robin Hood! Please?” The look on his face told Susan that these kids had found an easy mark in Constable Turnbull. There was obviously nothing he wouldn’t do for them.

“It just so happens that in the picnic basket I have…ta da! ‘The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood’.” She laughed as she handed it to her friend.

“Why do I feel like I’ve been the victim of a plot?” The children all gathered closer to Mister Mountie and Miss Susan as he began reading.

_'King Henry II had taunted the Sheriff of Nottingham because he was unable, in spite of his enormous array of men-at-arms, to capture Robin Hood –_

The children cheered at the mention of their other hero.

_‘– and his little band. So the Sheriff thinks up the scheme of the shooting-match. But of course he does not succeed this time, nor at any other time, in his efforts to catch the bold outlaw.’_

As he read an elderly couple walked down the path near the group sitting under the tree. “George, look,” he wife whispered to him, “isn’t that sweet?”

“Yeah sure, sweet,” George said perfunctorily. He was much more interested in whether or not there were any fish in the pond on the other side of the path.

“George you don’t have a romantic bone in your body.” She punched him affectionately on the arm. “They make a beautiful couple, don’t you think, pretty young blonde girl and a handsome man? They look like something from 60 years ago, when times were simpler, easier, more idyllic.”

“You think they look like they got it easy, idyllic? Eight kids? They look like they oughta be dead!”

“George!” They both laughed softly as they proceeded down the path

As Renfield read to them Susan leaned back against the tree trunk and closed her eyes. It was so peaceful here with the children finally quiet and still, his animated reading pleasing to her ears, and the heat of the day beginning to dissipate. She realized that she could be content to stay here for… She shook her thoughts away and checked her watch.

Turnbull took his cue from her actions and closed the book. “It looks like it’s time we got you ladies and gentlemen back to the school. You’re parents will be coming and they can’t pick you up if you’re not there.” He rubbed a finger under Maria’s chin causing her to laugh. A couple of the others giggled at him, but most were disappointed that their picnic with Mister Mountie had come to an end.

Susan began to clean up. “Okay, everyone gather up your trash and go throw it out.” As they both reached for his glass Turnbull noticed her left hand and was brought crashing back to reality. Being with her and the children had temporarily blocked out the events of earlier in the day. But the engagement ring on her finger reminded him all too clearly of just who he was and the remembering also reminded him of what was about to happen to his career.

Susan sensed the change in him almost immediately. “Renfield?”

He was on his feet and heading toward the trash can in an instant. “They are going to turn that can over if they’re not careful. Daniel, be careful! Wait a minute and I’ll help you.”

Susan sighed, he had avoided her again. She’d have to stop pressing him, or she would drive him away completely.

She gathered up the remaining contents of the picnic basket, folded the blanket and handed them to Turnbull. He reached for his tunic but she just shook her head and draped it over her arm. “Wait until we get back to the Consulate, it’s cooled down some, but it’s still awfully hot.” She smiled at him and proceeded to collect the children for the walk back to school. “Maria, would you carry the ball for Mister Mountie? He’s got his hands full.” Maria was thrilled to help her friend and proudly took the ball from him.

They walked the two blocks back to the Consulate in almost total silence. Even the children were subdued. The closer they came to the building the more withdrawn Turnbull became. About a half block from the entrance he slowed down and turned to Susan.

“Uh, Miss Harris, I want to wish you every happiness in your pending nuptials.”

She laughed. He had really surprised her. “Thank you Renfield, but Doug and I haven’t even set a date yet. And when we do you will certainly be invited.”

He suddenly became intent on studying his boots. “I will be receiving transfer orders very soon and may not have the opportunity to speak with you again before I leave.” He blurted out the words before he could stop himself and her reaction stunned him.

“Renfield, no!” She was totally shocked. “Why didn’t you tell me? What about the kids and the school? Does Ms. Atkins know?”

“I just found out today.” He hung his head again, afraid she would see the tears forming in his eyes. “It wasn’t my decision.”

“Oh Renfield, I’m so sorry.” She gently touched his arm. “Where will you be going?” she asked softly.

Very far from here, he thought. “I don’t know yet. My superior officer and I will make that determination tomorrow morning.” By now they had arrived back at the Consulate and neither one of them could think of anything else to say.

Turnbull set down the picnic things he was carrying and turned to open the door, completely oblivious to the fact that she was still carrying his tunic.

“Goodbye, Mister Mountie. See ya at school on Monday.”

This time he couldn’t find the strength to turn around to face the children. “Yes, see you…”

Amber turned to Maria and whispered, “why is Miss Susan crying?” Maria was bouncing the ball on the sidewalk but watching her friend Mister Mountie very intently. He was unhappy and that made her sad. 

Constable Turnbull heard rather than saw the ball bounce into the street and reacted in an instant. Instinctively he knew there would be a child in the street right behind it.

He was right, Maria ran into the street after the ball with Turnbull right on her heels. “Meghan NO!” He grabbed her by the arm from the path of an oncoming vehicle and threw her away from the car and back against the pavement. He was able to save her but unable to save himself.

The speeding car hit him full force, the driver not even having time to hit the brakes. He was thrown first into a parked car and then to the pavement about 50 feet from the point of impact. He heard a child screaming from a great distance and prayed. Please dear God I pray I didn’t hurt her, please don’t let her be hurt. It was his last thought before losing consciousness.

Chapter 2

The Discovery

The interminable meeting with Lt. Welsh had finally come to an end. Ray and Fraser had not eaten since lunch and it was now nearing 8pm. But neither one of them wanted to think about food, they were both too anxious to speak with Constable Turnbull. The things that he had said about Turnbull earlier had hung in the back of Ray’s mind all day, like a bad dream. Now all he wanted to do was apologize, tell the guy that he had opened his mouth and inserted his size 10s right in.

Fraser had also been brooding about the incident. Turnbull wasn’t an idiot, he behaved rather – oddly at times, but it was just, just that he tried too hard. And it seemed the harder he tried the more he mucked things up.

They decided to go to the Consulate first, Fraser being certain that Turnbull would not leave until he returned. Turnbull would never leave his post. He smiled to himself. Yes, Turnbull often acted strangely, but he knew his duty and tried his best to do it.

As Ray pulled the GTO up to the curb Fraser saw immediately that something was wrong. The front door was standing open and there were no lights showing from inside the building. In fact the interior was pitch black.

Fraser and Ray were at the front steps in a heartbeat. They stood on either side of the open door, Ray with his gun drawn. Just as they were about to enter the building Inspector Thatcher came up behind them.

“Constable, Detective, what on earth are you doing?”

Both Fraser and Ray jumped at her words. “Jeez, Inspector, be quiet!” Ray hissed at her.

“Inspector, the door was ajar when we arrived,” Fraser whispered to her, “there may be something amiss inside.”

“Say no more. Proceed!”

Inspector Thatcher and Fraser followed Ray into the darkened building. It took several seconds for their eyes to adjust to the darkness and then they began their systematic search. After a few minutes they determined that they were alone in the building and that nothing had been disturbed.

Spying the wilted roses still scattered on the floor Thatcher was sure what had happened. “I’m not going to have him transferred, I am going to have him cashiered! I…I…” She was so angry that she could not form the words. “I cannot believe…he went home and left the door open? I don’t know which will happen first, my firing him or my killing him!"

“Inspector Thatcher, I don't think Constable Turnbull would ever –”

“Fraser, not thinking is his problem, not yours. Not thinking is his –”

A woman standing in the doorway interrupted Thatcher’s impending litany of Turnbull’s character flaws. “Excuse please?” Standing with the woman were a young teenaged boy and an even younger girl, with her arm in a cast.

But Thatcher was in no mood to be polite to strangers at the moment. “I'm sorry, the Consulate is closed.”

“I _Senora Calvo_ , this is _mi hijo Rafael_ and _mi hija Maria –_ ”

“My mom’s English isn't that great. I’m Raf, and this is Maria. We want to know about the Mountie.”

“Excuse me?” the Inspector demanded.

“The Mountie, Turnbull, he threw my Maria away –”

“He did WHAT?” Thatcher's voice rose at least two octaves.

“She…sorry, my English…Rafael, you tell…”

“My sister ran into the street and Mister Mountie, er Constable Turnbull saved her. She’s got a broken arm. The car hit him.”

“Constable Turnbull was hit by a car? When?” again Thatcher demanded.

Rafael turned to his Mother who said something to him in Spanish. “About 3:30.”

“That was 5 hours ago! Was he taken to the hospital?” Thatcher’s anger was immediately replaced with concern for her subordinate officer.

Maria nodded and began to cry. “He was hurt and wouldn’t wake up. They couldn’t make him wake up!”

Fraser went to her and patted her shoulder. “I’m sure he will be fine.” He looked at her mother and Rafael, “leave your phone number and we’ll call you when we find out how he is. But we need to lock the door now and go to the hospital.” He ushered the family out with Ray and the Inspector close on their heels.

“Ray, I think the situation requires all due haste!”

“I’m all over that, Fraser.”

Ray made it to the hospital in record time. He brought the car to a screeching halt near the ER entry doors and the three of them were through those doors in a heartbeat. Thatcher and Fraser ran full tilt through the nearly empty room toward the admissions desk as Ray slid to a halt near the waiting room.

“Fraser!” Ray yelled as he pointed toward the flash of red he had seen out of the corner of his eye. What they saw puzzled them both. Curled up asleep in a molded orange plastic chair was a young woman covered by an RCMP red serge tunic.

“Excuse me…” Fraser touched her shoulder lightly, but Susan was awake and on her feet in an instant.

“How is he? Is there any word?” She suddenly became aware that the tunic had fallen to the floor and she grabbed it up quickly. “Oh God, I know how he is about this jacket…” She had to put her hand over her mouth to hold back a sob. She looked at Fraser and attempted to hand him the tunic. “I’m sorry for putting it over me, but I’m not exactly dressed for the cold in here… I’m sorry, I tend to babble when I’m worried.”

Fraser shook his head at her. “Keep it for now, it is rather cool in here.” He turned in the direction Inspector Thatcher had gone. “We don’t know anything yet, we just arrived.”

Susan ran her hands through her messy hair. “Of course, I’m sorry, we weren’t sure how to reach any of you. What time is it?” Looking at her watch, “dear God, he’s been in surgery 4 hours!”

Thatcher hurried up behind Susan. “Excuse me, who are you, and why are you wearing Constable Turnbull's tunic?”

“Susan Harris. I was carrying it when he was hit.” She closed her eyes to block out the memory. “Renfield and I both teach at St Luke’s School.”

“Teach?”

Fraser interrupted the Inspector’s apparent line of questioning, believing there to be more important questions to be asked. “I’m Benton Fraser, this is Inspector Margaret Thatcher and Detective Ray Vecchio. Can you tell us what happened?”

Susan knew the images were forever branded in her memory, that she could never forget them. She just wasn’t at all sure she could put them into words, not coherent ones anyway.

She took a deep, shaky breath. “We were walking back from the park. The children were released early today for teacher conferences, but some parents weren’t able to pick their children up early so I agreed to watch them and Mister, ah, Renfield was enlisted to come with us to the park. Maria is Renfield’s favorite. I think he identifies with her loneliness being in a foreign country…”

Fraser sighed audibly and Ray gave him a sideways glance. He knew that Fraser had occasional bouts of homesickness but it had never occurred to either one of them that Turnbull would feel the same loneliness. He always seemed so…cluelessly happy.

“Who’s Meghan?” Susan frowned when she realized none of the others knew what she was talking about. She continued, “Maria ran into the street and Renfield was after her before I even knew what was happening. He called her Meghan.” She angrily backhanded tears from her cheeks. Tears would do nothing to help Renfield now. “The car hit him without even slowing down.” The damn tears were starting again. “He’s been in surgery a long time,” she muttered to no one in particular.

They settled in to wait. After a few minutes, an admitting nurse came over to them. “You said you are Mr. Turnbull’s superior officer?” she asked Thatcher. “Do you have his health insurance number?”

Susan looked up. “His wallet is in his…tunic.” Susan fished through the pockets, feeling a little like she was prying again, and handed his wallet to Fraser.

Fraser sat in the nearest chair to look through it. The first thing he saw upon opening the wallet was a picture of a pretty young woman, who looked remarkably like Susan Harris, and a young girl of about 3. Curious, he turned it over. “Hmm.”

“Fraser?”

“I think I know who Meghan is.” He handed the picture to Inspector Thatcher. The inscription on the back read ‘To Renny – all our love Melanie and Meghan 6/91’.

Further investigation produced Turnbull’s Health Insurance Card, which Fraser handed to the nurse, and a newspaper clipping. After a few moments hesitation Fraser unfolded the article and began reading. “Oh dear,” he sighed.

Inspector Thatcher took the clipping from Fraser and read it out loud:

“‘Melanie Turnbull, 25 and daughter, Meghan, 3 were killed today in a hit and run accident. The Turnbull family, including Melanie’s husband Renfield, were walking from their home to St John’s Episcopal Church for Sunday service. Renfield Turnbull was not injured. Mr. and Mrs. Turnbull teach at Hawthorne Street Elementary School in Hampton. Funeral arrangements are pending.’ Constable Turnbull’s superior officer sighed as she finished reading. “It’s dated 8/13/91, two months after the picture was taken.”

“Oh, God,” Susan began to cry, this time making no attempt hide her tears. “That poor man,” she whispered.

No one else spoke for several minutes being unable to think of anything to say. Susan finally broke the silence, speaking to no one in particular. “The children really love him, you know? He’s been teaching art part time, with a little bit of Canadian history thrown in for good measure, to 1st and 2nd graders for most of this school year.”

“Rafael referred to him as Mister Mountie –”

Susan sat bolt upright up in her chair and gaped at Fraser. “You saw Rafael? How’s Maria? I haven’t seen her; I left the children with Mrs. Spencer and Mrs. Calvo and came to the hospital with Renfield. I –”

“Her arm is broken and she was a little scraped up, but other than that she seems okay, she seemed very worried about Turn…Mister Mountie.”

Susan sighed. That was going to be a big problem, but she wouldn’t worry about that yet, maybe he’d be okay by then.

“You were going to tell us about Mister Mountie?" Inspector Thatcher was dying of curiosity about Turnbull’s none to secret identity.

“Oh…yes,” she began. “When Maria and her brother first enrolled in school she was assigned to Renfield’s art class. Her limited use of English compounded with her thick Argentinean accent made it almost impossible for her to pronounce Constable Turnbull. The other children teased her mercilessly, to the point that Renfield felt he must intervene. He told her that her special name for him would be Mister Mountie. As she made more and more friends they asked if they could also call him by her special name, and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“Are you people here about the Mountie?”

They hadn't even heard the doctor enter the room but were all on their feet instantly. “I’m his superior officer. What can you tell us about his condition?”

“Let’s sit down, can we? It’s been a long evening.” The doctor took a deep breath before continuing. “The Constable suffered numerous internal injuries and a broken leg, but he came through the surgery without major complications. He’s a very strong young man.”

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the doctor continued. “He has also suffered a severe concussion. He has not regained consciousness,” the doctor hesitated only momentarily. “He is currently in a coma.” He held up his hands at the rapid intake of breath from Susan. “There is currently no cause for alarm. The cranial swelling should go down in the next couple of days, and there is every reason to expect his full recovery. It sounds trite I’m sure, but the next 48 hours should tell the tale. Now it’s time for all of you to go home and get some rest. Let us get him settled in ICU and you can come back tomorrow and see him. Leave a number where one of you can be reached, just in case. Now, I need some rest too.”

As they prepared to leave Ray finally spoke up. “Hey Frase, I’m gonna hang around, ya know? I don’t like the idea of him bein’ here by himself. If he wakes up someone oughta be here. Take Inspector Thatcher and Miss Harris home in my car. I’ll stay.”

“Ray, are you sure?”

“I owe him, ya know? I wanna do this.”

Fraser smiled at his partner. “I can come back if you like?”

“Nah, get some sleep and come back in the mornin’. I’ll just wait in one of these terrific plastic chairs.”

Fraser was touched by Ray’s concern for his fellow officer. “Thanks Ray.”

As they left the ER Inspector Thatcher turned to Fraser, “Constable, I think Detective Vecchio has the right idea. It would be good if one of us stayed here until he comes around. He shouldn’t have to be alone.” She was thinking about the comment Susan had made earlier, about being alone in a foreign country. “Why don’t we take shifts? I’ll relieve Vecchio in the morning and you can relieve me tomorrow evening?”

“I’ll shuffle some personal stuff and be here Sunday.” Susan saw their surprise and responded immediately. “Hey, he’s my friend too!”

“Good, then that’s settled. By Monday he should be awake.” None of the others responded to Thatcher’s optimism, they just silently hoped she was correct.

None of them slept much that night. Ray couldn’t have slept if he’d tried, which he didn’t. The stupid plastic chairs were the most uncomfortable things he’d ever sat in, much less try to sleep on. He was glad he stayed though. No one should have to stay in a hospital alone. And he was going to make sure Turnbull wasn’t ever alone.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning a cute nurse took pity on him and let him catch a few hours of sleep in the doctor’s lounge. Plastic covered couch? Was everything in this place plastic? He finally fell asleep with visions of her dancing through his mind. Angel of Mercy that she was.

Fraser never slept much anyway, but this night he slept even less. He had never spoken with Turnbull about personal matters, but now wished desperately that he had. He hadn’t considered that the other man might be feeling some of the same things that he had experienced, homesickness, the loneliness of a strange city, losing loved ones. Talking with him might have helped both of them through some of the rougher times. But no, he never talked to anyone about how he felt. He finally fell asleep somewhere near daybreak, his last thought was that he might have missed a golden opportunity.

Thatcher tossed and turned most of the night. She was just plain worried. Worried that her subordinate was hurt, that he might never – no! She would allow herself to think that.

She had to be able to talk to him. To tell him that she had reconsidered his transfer. She had made that decision long before hearing about his accident. She had shouted at him without just cause – no, that wasn’t true. Damn, her thoughts were such a jumble; first concern for Turnbull, then feeling sorry for herself, then feeling sorry for the loss of his family. Why hadn’t she known about that? Of course, she had never taken the time to actually read his personnel file, she’d just assumed he was a bumbling idiot and left it at that. Now she was mad at herself, Turnbull, even Fraser. Why the hell was she mad at Fraser? He hadn’t done anything – lately. She fell asleep near dawn the image of Fraser in her mind’s eye.

Susan couldn’t sleep either. She was afraid to close her eyes. When she did all she saw was the image of Renfield lying so terribly broken on the pavement in front of his office. And all she could hear were children screaming for Mister Mountie. And Rafael appearing out of nowhere and running to help his sister. Dear God, how had such a beautiful day gone so terribly wrong? And the children, what was going to happen to the kids who had witnessed the whole thing? They would have to have counseling, of course. But what if he didn't wake up? If Renfield… died…the children would never recover, they loved him so much. She prayed the most fervent prayer of her life, ‘Please, dear God, for Renfield, for the children, for his friends, for me, let him be okay’. She dozed off with the vision of Renfield reading to the children before her eyes.

The next morning Thatcher arrived to the sight of an extremely – what was the word – crumpled Vecchio. Of course in her experience this version, version 2, of Vecchio was always crumpled, unlike version 1 who seemed to always be dressed in Armani. She silently hoped the Americans who had concocted this outrageous replacement scheme knew there was a difference.

“Good morning, Detective. Is there any word on Turnbull’s condition?” she asked, eying him with poorly disguised disdain.

“Just checked, no change. They seem ta think that’s okay. You gonna stay awhile?”

“We decided last night to take shifts. I’m here to spell you. You might consider a shower and shave, Detective.” Her disdain was no longer disguised, poorly or otherwise.

“My personal hy – hyg…stuff is no concern of yers, Inspector.” But he knew she was right, “a little more shuteye on sumthin other than plastic might not be a bad idea either. I’ll check back with ya later.”

Thatcher asked the hospital administrator to have a more comfortable chair placed near Turnbull’s ICU room and given the fact that the staff was aware of the Mountie’s heroics, the administrator agreed. She settled in for the duration. She had kept hospital vigils before and had come prepared. With her notebook computer she could complete mounds of paperwork, and if that got to be too much she could always play Hearts or FreeCell. She was getting very good at FreeCell. She sighed as she thought that she was getting very good at many things that called for only one participant.

The day’s waiting produced no change in Turnbull’s condition. When Fraser arrived early that evening the news was the same as when he had called all the other times during the day.

Fraser and Thatcher stood by his bed watching his motionless form. “He looks awfully banged up. I can’t imagine what it must have felt like to have been hit –”

“Inspector, I’m sure he did not feel a thing. The human mind has the capacity to shut out intense pain. When he awakens he probably won’t remember anything that happened. The Inuit have –”

“Fraser, not now, please? I’m too tired for stories.”

“Sorry.” Fraser knew that he often compensated for his concern with words. Apparently, at least as far as Inspector Thatcher was concerned, too many words. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest? I’ll call if there’s any change.” He placed his hand lightly on her arm and gently pushed her toward the door.

“Any change, anything at all, and you’ll call?” Fraser nodded and the Inspector left.

Fraser walked slowly back into the room and stood next to the bed watching Turnbull for several more minutes. This was the first he had seen him since the accident. He had seen many accident victims in his career of course, some in much worse shape, but Turnbull was a fellow officer and his friend, and his physical condition sickened him. The entire left side of his upper body was rubbed raw apparently from contact with asphalt. He was a mass of bandages and tubes. And of course there was a huge cast on his left leg. “I hope you don’t remember any of what happened when you awaken,” he whispered as he turned to walk away. It suddenly occurred to him that even though his fallen comrade might not hear him Turnbull needed to be told about the results of his heroics. “And Renfield?” he whispered, placing his hand lightly on Turnbull’s bandaged forearm. “You saved her, Constable. Maria is just fine.”

He left the room to pace the halls.

When Susan arrived on Sunday morning there was still no change. He had not moved or moaned or even twitched. No eyelid flutters, nothing. It was very discouraging. But it had also not yet been 48 hours. That seemed to have become the magic number. When 48 hours had passed he would suddenly snap awake and everything would be okay. Or so everyone hoped.

Susan spent the day near Renfield’s room reading student’s ‘What I Want to be When I Grow Up’ themes and answering phone calls from worried friends and parents. As the day wore on she became more and more concerned. His condition was not improving and tomorrow was Monday, the first school day since the accident. They were going to have to handle this very carefully.

As the magic hour approached she thought she had come up with a way to deal with the situation: the truth. Or at least as much of the truth as 6 and 7 year olds could understand. Her plan was fairly simple, but she would have to call Ms. Atkins for approval.

Ms. Atkins thought it was a wonderful idea, and between the two of them they started calling parents to explain.

When Fraser, Thatcher and Vecchio all arrived near the 48 hour mark, Susan was ready to present her idea to them.

“There’s still no change? I hoped, but of course that’s silly. The time of day shouldn’t have any effect on his recovery,” still Thatcher was surprised at how disappointed she was.

“Could I speak with you all in the waiting room?” Susan fervently hoped that her plan would work and much of that depended on the Mounties’ cooperation.

When they all reached a place in the hospital where she could speak above a whisper she continued, “I’ve been fielding calls from concerned parents all weekend. They’re concerned for Renfield, but also very concerned for their children. There were 8 children who witnessed the accident and there are about 40 or so others who know Renfield as their friend. We really need your help.” She was speaking to the Inspector but turned to include Fraser as well. “Could the two of you come to the school tomorrow morning and address an assembly of all the children and a few parents? Talking about the accident with other Mounties might help the children cope.”

Susan sighed in relief as Thatcher nodded in agreement. “We will do whatever you think is needed, whatever you think will help.”

“And I’ll stay here ta be with him.”

“Thank you, Detective,” she smiled at Ray, “thank you all. I’ve been really worried about how we were going to do this. Telling the truth is the only way of course. But only just as much truth as they can handle.”

Fraser elected to spend the night at the hospital. He silently hoped that he would be able to bring good news with him to the school tomorrow. He hadn’t spent much time around children and no time at all, that he could remember, around large groups of them. He knew he would have a hard act to follow, Mister Mountie was their hero.

Ray arrived at the hospital somewhere around 6:00am. Lt. Welsh having given him permission to report to work later in the day. Welsh had also sent Turnbull a message. ‘Tell Turnbull I said to get his butt outta bed and back to work real soon.’

Since Fraser never wrinkled it wasn’t too hard for him to ‘get ready for school’ at the hospital. Which was a very good thing since he wanted to wait until the last possible moment to leave, just in case there was any change in Turnbull’s condition. Sadly for everyone, there was not.

Inspector Thatcher picked him up at precisely 7:00am. After she checked on Turnbull one last time they left for school. The ER nurses and other hospital employees smiled at them as they left the ICU. They made quite a show stopping pair, both wearing their dress red serge uniforms.

Chapter 3

Back to School

Inspector Thatcher and Constable Fraser arrived at St Luke’s School at approximately 7:30. Susan had asked them to arrive early, saying she had something she thought they would like to see before the children started arriving. She also wanted them to go over what they would say.

“Thank you so much for coming. I’ve already spoken to several parents and they are very grateful to you, too. I thought you might like to see the art room, Renfield’s classroom, before the children start arriving.”

She led them down corridors that brought back vivid childhood memories for Thatcher. Low drinking fountains, low windows, small desks and chalkboards inside cluttered classrooms. She almost laughed out loud. It felt rather – creepy, like some vaguely remembered dream.

Fraser, on the other hand, was exhibiting a decidedly different reaction. As far as he could remember he had only been in a school for children of this age once or twice, and never when he was a child. He found it all – fascinating.

“We have grades K-8 here. The classrooms for the older children are on the other side of the compound. Here it is, room 109.” After opening the door she stepped aside to let the Mounties enter first. She hoped they liked what they saw.

“Oh my God!”

“Oh my.”

Apparently they did. Susan grinned widely. The large, sunlight filled room was filled with at least a dozen easels, assorted workbenches, art supplies, and the smell of paint. But the accoutrements of the room where not what caused the shocked responses of Thatcher and Fraser. It was what lined the walls, what covered every possible bit of wall space, that drew their rapt attention. Hanging floor to ceiling and even on a few of the abundant windows where pictures. But it was not the large numbers of pictures that drew their eyes, it was the subject matter.

The pictures were painted in various mediums, tempura, watercolor, crayon, and even finger paint. Pictures whose subject matter was exclusively Canadian. Pictures of Mounties, Mounties on horseback, Mounties standing by their horses, horses with the Canadian flag flying over them, American and Canadian flags together, the Canadian flag alone, and a few whose subject matter could not quite be identified. It was marvelous! Both Canadian citizens felt an uncontrollable desire to salute.

Thatcher turned to Susan. “This is amazing! How did he get…where did…how did the children…”

Susan began to laugh softly. “He included some Canadian history in his art classes, and the children did the rest. They apparently found painting a Mountie and horses more interesting than trees and sky. Every one of the Mountie pictures is supposed to be Renfield. He told me he thought that one over there in particular made him look like Mighty Mouse.”

“Mighty Mouse?”

“I’ll explain later, Fraser,” Thatcher whispered.

They continued to examine the pictures and laugh for several minutes. As she circled the room Thatcher came upon a large object on an easel covered by a tarp. “Susan, what is this?”

“I don’t think –” But it was too late to stop her, as Thatcher had already pulled off the tarp and stood gaping at what she saw underneath. “I don't think he would have wanted you to see that –”

“Inspector, it’s lovely. That’s you and, if I’m not mistaken –”

“Lightning Streak,” she was unable to raise her voice above a whisper. “It’s from the photograph I have on my desk.” She had to clasp her hands together to keep them from shaking. “It’s, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” She quickly wiped away the tears that were forming in her eyes. “He knocked the picture off my desk when he was dusting, and I yelled at him because he’d broken the glass.”

“He’s painting it as a birthday gift I believe, but he was worried that it wouldn’t be completed in time. He told me that this is one of his first attempts in oils. He’s a very talented artist,” Susan whispered as she came up behind Thatcher and put her arm around the other woman’s shoulders.

“That’s a lovely painting isn’t it? Is the horse yours?” an older woman asked as she made her way into the room to join them.

“Yes, that is he was. I had to have him put down several years ago.” Thatcher extended her hand to the woman. “I’m Inspector Margaret Thatcher and this is Constable Benton Fraser.”

“My name is Isabel Atkins, I’m the School Principal. Is there any word on Renfield’s condition?”

“As of this morning there is still no change.” God, how she was beginning to hate those words. “But the doctors remain optimistic.”

“Renfield has become very important to us around here. He has a lot of people praying for him. Why don’t we go to the meeting room and discuss what the children need, and more importantly, don’t need, to know.” She looked back at the art classroom and waved her arms, “Isn’t this something? I think these children know more about Canada than they do about the US.” She just shook her head and smiled.

A few older children were just beginning to arrive as the group made their way to the meeting room. Thatcher and Fraser got the customary stares, but not the incredulous ones they were used to. These kids were apparently used to seeing red serge in their school.

The meeting room was actually an oversized classroom complete with teacher’s desk and chalkboard. But the student desks had been removed and were replaced with – oh, dear – orange plastic chairs, similar to those at the hospital except on a smaller scale.

“Fraser, was there some sort of fire sale of orange plastic things that we weren't aware of?” Thatcher whispered in his ear.

“I just thought the Americans liked their plastic orange,” the twinkle in his eye matched hers, “…but then again, perhaps not.”

Ms. Atkins placed a full size orange plastic chair at the front of the room. “Mr., er, Constable Fraser, I think it best, at least to begin with, if you address the group. Constable, just tell the children the truth. I’m sure it goes without saying, but the graphic details must be avoided. Also I think letting them ask questions would be a good idea.” She looked Susan for confirmation. “Any questions?”

For a moment Thatcher felt like she was back in school and almost raised her hand. “Do the children have any idea what happened? Have they been told anything?”

“Good question, dear…I’m sorry!” she chuckled. “The older I get the more I treat everyone as if they were 8 years old. Most of them know that Mister Mountie was hurt, but it might be best to explain exactly what happened.”

At that moment parents began to arrive with their children. All of the parents had been apprised of the meeting, but as most of them worked only a few parents were expected to attend.

The adults tended to gather toward the back of the room as the children quietly took their seats. The atmosphere was extremely subdued. Inspector Thatcher, practiced in every imaginable social situation involving adults, moved to the back of the room.

“Good morning, I’m RCMP Inspector Margaret Thatcher, Constable Turnbull’s superior officer.”

“I’m Mary Allaire, Amber is my daughter. This is John Landwehr, Kathryn Nottolli and Carol Smith. Is there any new word on Constable Turnbull’s condition?”

Once again those hated words, “as of this morning there is still no change.”

Kathryn spoke up. “I’m sure you're aware of just what your subordinate officer has done here?” Her tone caused Thatcher some concern.

“I’d don't think I quite follow…”

“He has single handedly taught these children the meaning of duty –”

“And honor –”

“And respect for themselves and others –”

“Especially that. My Amber sure gives her big brother more privacy since Mister Mountie talked to her. Nothing I said made any difference. You should be very proud of him, he’s quiet a treasure.”

Somehow the word treasure used to describe Constable Turnbull had never occurred to Thatcher. She was momentarily speechless. “I…well we…I am sure all of Canada rejoices that Constable Turnbull is in Chicago, ah, working with these children.” Sometimes the art of diplomacy came so easily to her even she was surprised – she hadn’t even had to lie!

Ms. Atkins clapped her hands. “If I could have everyone’s attention please? We have some special visitors here with us today to talk to us about Mister Mountie. This is Constable Fraser and in the back of the room is Inspector Thatcher.” Of course all of the children had to turn around in their chairs to see her, and she gave them a little self-conscious wave. “They work with Mister Mountie in his office, the Canadian Consulate. You all remember seeing him standing so straight and tall when we went on the field trip to the museum? That was the Consulate. Constable Fraser stands there sometimes too.” Fraser cringed, but no one seemed to notice, with the possible exception of Thatcher.

“Constable Fraser?” As she passed him she whispered in his ear, “tell them the truth or they'll eat you alive.” This time Ms Atkins also saw him cringe.

“Good morning, children. I –”

“Good morning, Constable Fraser,” returned 40 or so voices in unison. Thatcher began to pray, please don’t let him blow this. Oh God, she’d forgotten to tell him – no Inuit stories!

Fraser took his seat in front of the eighty or so eyes boring a hole right through him. If he could survive this he surely must deserve a medal. And he would turn right around and give it to Turnbull.

“Const…ah, Mister Mountie was in an accident on Friday. But I guess you already know that.” He ran a finger between his neck and collar. Either his neck was swelling or his collar was shrinking, and wasn’t it awfully hot in here? “He was hit by a car. It wasn’t the driver’s fault because he didn’t see Mister Mountie. Mister Mountie has a broken leg. He also hit his head – Yes young man, do you have a question?” Well that was only obvious, as the kid had almost wiggled off his chair waving his hand in the air.

“Does he have a concussion?”

How old _are_ these kids? “Yes, he does. Yes young lady?”

“Is he un…un...”

“Unconscious, silly.”

“I’m not silly, you’re silly.”

“Now, now children. No one’s silly. Unconscious is a very big word. Let’s let Constable Fraser finish.”

“Yes, Mister Mountie is unconscious.”

“Will he die?”

Fraser thought that if that little girl started to cry he was out of here. “The doctors and nurses are taking very good care of him. Being unconscious is just his body’s way of helping his head heal.”

“Was Mister Mountie brave?”

Fraser was lost, he wasn’t sure where to go with this one. “Well, yes, of course –”

“Constable,” from the back of the room Susan stepped in to save him, “Mister Mountie told the children just a few weeks ago that being brave meant doing the right thing, even if you didn’t want to, or thought it might hurt.”

Fraser silently blessed Renfield Turnbull for every thing he had ever said. “Yes, young man, Constable Turnbull, Mister Mountie was very brave.”

All the children smiled, it was obviously exactly what they wanted to hear.

“Was it Maria’s fault that Mister Mountie got hurt?”

Thatcher certainly could not remember being this insightful when she was 6. She decided it was time to let Fraser off the hook. “Sometimes people, children and adults, do or say things before they think about the consequences,” she said as she made her way to the front of the room. But as she looked at the children she thought she saw confusion on some of their faces and was afraid that she might be talking over their heads.

One of the boys in the back slowly raised his hand. “Yes, young man?”

“Kinda like when Mister Mountie told us not to tease Maria ‘cause it’d hurt her feelings? We didn’t mean to hurt her feelings, we just thought it was funny. He told us that we should think about how we’d feel if somebody teased us.”

Talk about insight. “Yes, something like that. Maria wanted to get the ball that Mister Mountie had asked her to carry. She didn’t mean to get anybody hurt. It’s very important that we all remember to stop and think about what we say and do, and how other people might be affected.” Good God, did she just say that?

“Does Maria have a cast?”

“Yes, she does.”

“Cool! Can we sign it?”

All the adults in the room breathed a sigh of relief as the direction of the children’s questions shifted. Having been reassured about Mister Mountie they were now more interested in Maria and her cool cast.

“I'm sure Maria would love for you to sign her cast.”

“Let’s draw a Mountie on it! Miss Susan can help us!”

“Yeah! Miss Susan can help us, please?”

“Okay, let’s all go to class now and we can discuss how we’ll decorate Maria’s cast.”

Apparently they had survived their first high level meeting with 6 year olds. Meetings with ambassadors and statesmen didn’t wear Thatcher out as much as this meeting with 40 1st and 2nd graders had. Stress thy name is children!

Thatcher wasn’t aware that Fraser had left the room until she saw him return. “Fraser?”

“I called Ray. There’s still no change.”

She hadn’t realized until just this moment how deeply Turnbull’s accident had affected Fraser. “I think maybe we should go back to the hospital for awhile.”

“If you don’t mind I’d like to stay here for awhile, ma’am?”

“Constable, are you all right? You seem a little distracted.” Well, at least more so than usual, she thought.

“I just need some time. I’ve got something I need to do. I –”

“Say no more, Fraser. We all need some time with our own thoughts right now.”

“Thank you.”

They walked into the hall together each lost in their own thoughts.

“Hey, you guys like Mounties or somethin’?” As they turned they were greeted with the presence of four young boys, older than the previous group, probably about 13 or so.

“Yes, young man Inspector Thatcher and I are members of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, or Mounties to you. My name is Constable Benton Fraser. Hello Rafael.”

“Hey.”

“That Mister Mountie guy, Constable Turnbull, he’s kind of like a geek ya know? But he’s okay. He’s not gonna like die or nothin’ is he?”

“The doctors are doing everything they can for him, Mister –”

“Name’s Joe, that’s Bob and Howie. You know Raf. Mist…Constable Turnbull got like a concussion?”

“Exactly like a concussion. He’s currently in a coma.”

“That really blows,” Howie muttered. “He did some geeky stuff like hangin’ out with the little kids. But he told us guys some good stuff too. There was this girl I kinda liked. I wanted ta buy her like somthin’ ta make her like me back, but he said that I didn’t have ta buy her nothin’, I should just be nice ta her. Now she’s my girlfriend.”

“He told my bratty little sister ta stop buggin’ me. She kept just like comin’ in my room all the time. He told her she had ta respect my privacy. She’s still a brat but she’s stopped buggin’ me so much.”

“Tell him we said hey, okay?”

“We will be sure to tell him as soon as he regains consciousness. Thank you.” After the young men slouched away Thatcher turned to Fraser. “Who stole our Constable and where did they find this guy?”

“Pardon me?”

“All I’m asking is why didn’t we know the same Constable Turnbull that is so well loved in this school? Why didn’t he ever tell us?”

“I don’t think we ever gave him a chance.” Fraser certainly knew that he had never given him a chance.

Thatcher left Fraser at the school and returned to the hospital.

Chapter 4

Command Performance

Constable Turnbull was usually extremely punctual – until today. Today he was approximately 24 hours late – in waking up.

Ray was draped over the chair near Turnbull’s bed reading a magazine article titled ‘Yes, You too Can Build This Beautiful Birdhouse’ and wondering how he could ever eat the 376 popsicles necessary to obtain the necessary construction materials.

He first noticed a slight movement out of the corner of his eye but dismissed it to his overactive imagination and wishful thinking. When he saw Turnbull’s eyelids flutter later that afternoon he was so excited he could hardly contain himself. The ICU nurse tried to calm him by saying that it could possibly be a reflex action and not to get so excited. But when he opened his eyes a few moments later even she could not deny that Constable Turnbull had finally regained consciousness.

The nurse shooed Ray out of the room as hospital personnel began arriving. Ray hung around on the periphery watching what was transpiring, until a doctor pulled the privacy curtain and Ray’s view was blocked. He paced, rocked back and forth on his heels, paced some more, climbed the walls and swore several times under his breath before he remembered – 

“Ah, geez!” he muttered as he grabbed his phone to call the Consulate.

As Ray hung up the phone a doctor he had never seen before appeared behind him. “He’s going to be fine.” Ray had to restrain himself from kissing the man. “He’ll need a few more days of observation, but barring any complications, he should be ready to go home by the beginning of next week.”

Ray was so excited he had to hug something. He chose the doctor.

The doctor was momentarily stunned, having never been hugged by a cop before, but then thought that Canadian cops had nothing over American cops in the weird department.

“Can I see him?”

“Yes, but you need to remember he’s still a little disoriented. Don’t be surprised if he says a few things that don’t make any sense.” Ray wondered briefly how he would know the difference. “We’ll be moving him to a private room a little later, so just spend a few minutes, please.”

Ray went back into the room hesitantly but picked up his pace when Turnbull saw him and offered a weak smile.

“Turnbull, buddy, how ya doin’?”

“I feel as if I have been hit by a bus,” he replied, weakly.

“Close. D’ya remember what happened?”

“Not really. Just…just bits and pieces. Something about a red ball…oh dear, Maria!” Ray had to hold down the agitated Mountie to keep him from hurting himself.

“Whoa, hold on, buddy! Maria’s okay, she’s okay. She’s gotta nifty cast on her arm that she wears like some kinda plaster badge of honor.”

“Did I do that to her?” Ray could see the tears forming in his eyes.

“Hey, ya saved her life. You should be proud a that.”

Turnbull narrowed his eyes at the Detective. “Detective, you look…” Then he noticed the discarded coffee cups, candy wrappers and magazines that were scattered around the chair near his bed. “Have you been staying here?”

Ray was slightly embarrassed that his unselfish act had been discovered. “Yeah, well, off ‘n on for a coupla days. We didn’t think ya should be alone, ya know?”

Suddenly the Mountie was overcome with fatigue. “Thank you…Ray.”

“Detective, may I speak with Constable Turnbull alone, please?”

Inspector Thatcher stood in the doorway trying hard to conceal the fact that she was out of breath and Ray was shocked. She must have run all the way from where she parked the car. ‘So she really does care…who’d a thunk it?’

“Take it easy on him, huh?” he grinned at Turnbull before he turned to leave.

She was prepared to snap back at him until she saw him wink. She smiled. “That will be enough, Detective.” Entirely too much actually.

As soon as she was sure Detective Vecchio was not lurking in the doorway she turned to the Constable. Seeing his blue eyes looking back at her gave her immense relief. “You certainly had us worried, Constable. Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m sorry if I caused any trouble Sir.”

She sighed deeply. Dear lord, he’s apologizing to me! He’s a hero, for God’s sake.

Her look, in fact her whole demeanor confused him. “I’m doing well, Sir.”

“Constable, there's certainly no need for you to apologize to me. What you did was a very brave. You should be very proud of yourself.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think…I wasn’t…”

“Yes, Constable, you were. Even by your own definition, you were very brave. Let me see how did that go? ‘Being brave means doing the right thing even if you didn't want to or thought it might hurt.’”

The puzzled look on his face was rapidly replaced with shock. “Oh dear…”

But Inspector Thatcher just smiled at him. “Yes, Constable I have been to the school.” She frowned deeply at him. “Why didn’t you tell us…tell me what you were –”

He looked at her briefly and then glanced away. “I thought you might dis –”

She interrupted him as she knew exactly what he was going to say. “Disapprove?” She had to walk away from where she was standing. She couldn’t look at him while she searched her soul for the truth. When she knew, she came back to him. “I am ashamed to admit I probably would have. Until I had seen for myself what you have done there. Do you realize what a wonderful thing you have done? There are scores of American children living in Chicago who will grow up knowing that the capitol of Canada is not Washington DC! That Canada is not just an extension of the US. That our flag does not have Stars and Stripes, but a Maple Leaf. You must be very proud of what you have accomplished there.”

Turnbull had to swallow three times before he could reply. In his recent memory no one had ever taken notice of something he had accomplished, well at least not anything positive. He had no idea how to respond. He blushed slightly. “I guess…I’ve…I’ve just always related well with children…”

His genuine humility brought tears to her eyes. “Constable, I am going to do something now that I would have never in my wildest dreams thought possible…”

As she drew nearer to him he flinched slightly. “I am very proud of you, Constable Turnbull,” she whispered as she kissed him on the forehead.

As she drew away Turnbull’s blush reminded her of a color very near the red of their tunics. She just closed her eyes and shook her head. In her entire 30 something years of life she had only known two men who blushed that particular shade, and they were both currently her subordinate officers. The irony of it made her laugh out loud.

“Sir?”

“Every once in a great while you remind me very much of Constable Fraser.”

“Sir? Oh! Thank you Sir!” Of all the compliments she could have given him, this was the least expected and the most appreciated. He would have never suspected that Thatcher wasn’t 100% sure it was a compliment.

When the orderlies came in to move him to a private room Thatcher took it as her cue to depart. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Constable, you get some rest. That’s an order.” Almost as an after thought she turned back to him, “Oh, and Constable? I think we can forget that little matter of your transfer.” She just couldn’t let it drop, however. “For now.”

“Thank you, sir.” He relaxed into his pillow and closed his eyes. Thank you.

The physical stress of the move to a private room combined with the pain medication he was being given helped Turnbull fall into a deep sleep early in the evening. He was sleeping so soundly that he was completely oblivious to the visitors who spent the night watching over him. One Mountie and a furry four-footed friend of several of the nurses kept vigil until the early hours of the next morning.

__________

Constable Turnbull was pleased with, but more than a little confused by the attention he was getting from the hospital staff. He was able to sit up almost completely now and, between his frequent naps, all manner of hospital personnel stopped in to say hello, or at least waved at him as they passed in the hallway. He had always thought Americans to be friendly, but this was highly unusual. When Detective, ah, Ray came to sit with him he had to ask.

“Ray, everyone here seems to be excessively friendly. Is there something I have missed?”

More so than usual? Ray mentally kicked himself for the thought. “Ya really don’t know, do ya? Yer a hero, man, ya saved a kid! That’s a hero in everybudy’s book.”

“I don’t really think that I did anything that exceptional –”

“Man, ya really don’t know how ta take complement, do ya?”

Turnbull thought for a moment and sighed. “Ray, I rarely do anything that deserves complimenting.” The matter of fact way in which he made the statement made Ray’s heart hurt. Apparently no one, including Ray, had ever stopped to acknowledge Turnbull’s accomplishments.

“Well, ya did this time, buddy.”

Susan arrived at the hospital rather late that evening and because her fiancé was waiting for her at a nearby restaurant she wasn’t able to stay long. “I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better. The children and I were very worried about you.” She came nearer to his bed and took his hand. “Renfield, I just wanted you to know how sorry I am about you wife and child. We didn’t mean to pry, but Constable Fraser found the article in your wallet. I’m so sorry.”

For an instant before he turned away from her gaze she saw the same closed off look she had seen that day at the park. He muttered something that she didn’t quite catch, probably “thank you”, but didn’t look back at her.

When a nurse came in to check his vital signs and administer his nightly medication Susan decided she should go. “I’ll see you tomorrow after school, okay?” His only response was a slight nod as she left.

The night nurse noticed immediately that her favorite patient wasn’t his usually cheerful self and asked him if he was feeling okay.

“I’m fine, just great.”

She thought she must mention this to his doctor as soon as she was finished here, his tone indicating to her that he was anything but fine.

His perceptive nurse was correct – he wasn’t ‘fine’. He’d wondered why Inspector Thatcher and Ray were being so nice to him. Ray had said that he was a hero, but now he knew that wasn’t it. They pitied him! He had hoped – but no. How could he possibly have thought that the Inspector or Ray could change their opinions of him overnight? What was it Ray had called him? A freak, an idiot? Well, maybe Ray was right. But he would much rather be an idiot than accept pity. He hadn’t needed it all those years ago and he darn well didn’t need it now! No wonder Constable Fraser hadn’t come to see him! He had more integrity than all the rest of them combined, and he wouldn't lie. So rather than lie and tell him he was a hero, Fraser stayed away.

Constable Turnbull fell asleep believing that rather than a hero with a broken leg he was now twice an idiot. An idiot with a broken leg and an idiot for believing he was a hero. But once again the depth of his slumber prevented him from knowing of the late night presence of the other Mountie and the furry four footed nurse’s friend.

When Ray stopped by the hospital after work the next evening he was feeling pretty good about life in general. Turnbull was getting better and he had to admit that he kind of enjoyed the goofy Mountie’s company. Fraser was working on some sort of secret project or other and Ray hadn’t seen him in a couple of days but he’d been so busy with work and hospital visits he hadn’t had time to miss his partner’s presence.

As soon as he got off the elevator however, that same angel nurse from the ER called to him.

“Detective, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Sure, what's up?"

“We’re kind of worried about Constable Turnbull.”

“What?” Ray was immediately concerned. “has he had a re- 

“Relapse? Oh no, nothing like that. It’s just that he’s been one of the most cheerful patients we’ve had on the ward, and now he just seems sort of…depressed. He’s not eating much either. Do you know what might be bothering him?”

“Hospital food?” Ray joked. “No, really, I got no clue. But I’ll sure try ta find out.” She sure had nice eyes.

He certainly has a nice smile… “Thank you, Detective.”

“Ray. Name’s Ray Vecchio.”

She flashed him a drop dead gorgeous smile. “I’m Becky. Thank you, Ray.”

“Forget it, you don’t stand a chance, Stanley,” he muttered as he walked away.

“Turnbull, buddy, how ya doin’?” Ray noticed the change in the other man immediately upon entering his room. The light was gone from his eyes, and there was no smile anywhere to be seen. Turnbull almost always smiled.

“Fine thank you, Detective.”

“Hey, what happened ta Ray? You was callin me Ray?”

“Look, Detective, I really don’t think there is any need for you to continue coming to visit me. I’m sure you have more exciting things to do with your free time. I am recovering quite nicely and no longer need to be, what is it you Americans call it, baby sat?"

“You can’t really think that’s why I’ve been comin’ here? Or Thatcher either. Sure we was watchin’ over ya when you were out, but after ya came to we just kinda wanted ta keep ya company. Besides hangin’ around a hero is a great way ta attract women!”

“Detective, I may be as you say an idiot, but I am not stupid. I would really rather be alone than have you here because you feel sorry for me.”

Ray had hoped that the idiot thing had been forgotten, and he had no clue about feeling sorry for anybody. “Turnbull, I'm sorry ‘bout callin’ ya an idiot. Hell, I didn’t know ya well enough ta know whether you were an idiot or not. Now I know ya better and I know yer not an idiot. Maybe a freak, but yer in good company there. But haven’t got a clue why ya think I feel sorry for you.”

“I am certainly no hero, and I know you are aware of the loss of my family.”

Who taught Canadians how to think? “Hell, yes, yer a hero.” Wait just a damn minute! “You think I pity you? Look, Constable, I feel sorry about yer loss, it musta been hell fer you, but I’ve only pitied one person in my whole miserable life…me, when Stella and I split. I’ve been comin’ here cause I like bein’ around ya.”

Turnbull considered Ray words for several minutes. The longer he thought the more sense the words made. But what about Constable Fraser? Why hadn’t Fraser come to see him? If Fraser believed he was a hero, as Ray had said he was, why hadn’t Constable Fraser come to see him?

“I’m sorry, Ray. I just…” Turnbull looked Ray straight in the eye, “I’m sorry I suspected your motives.”

“If that means ya believe me, then good. Let’s eat. How bout I smuggle in some Chinese?”

“Thank you kindly, Ray. Ray…”

“Hmm?” When Turnbull didn’t respond Ray looked at him intently, “what? Don’t clam up on me now Buddy. Spit it out!”

“Why…why hasn’t Constable Fraser come to visit me?”

“He has.” As Ray turned to leave he stopped and turned back to Turnbull. “Hasn’t he?” Turnbull just shook his head. Uh oh. “Ya sure ya weren’t just sleepin’ or somethin’, and just missed him? He’s been workin’ on some project thingy, maybe he came by, you were sleepin’ and he couldn’t stay?”

“I’m sure that must be it.” But Turnbull wasn’t sure and Ray knew it. He made up his mind to find out what the hell was so important that Fraser would hurt Turnbull like that. Turnbull had been hurt enough.

Ray ran into Susan at the elevator as he was leaving to get the food. “Hiya, Susan.”

“Hello, Ray. How’s our favorite Mountie patient tonight?”

“Better now. Hey, you seen Fraser up here since the accident?”

“I haven't seen him…ah, here…since Sunday night. Why?”

Ray frowned. “This’s not like him. Fraser wouldn’t intentionally hurt anybudy. I can’t figure why he’s not comin’ ta see Turnbull. I think that big guy down the hall thinks Fraser’s mad at him or somethin’.”

“He’s been here all night, every night, except the first one, Ray.”

“Ya sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. He gives me a full progress report every morning.” Darn! Fraser was going to kill her!

What? “Okay, you're gonna have ta explain that one.”

“He made me promise not to tell any of you. Ray, if you tell Renfield anything about this I’ll…well just don’t let on, okay?” She looked around to be sure no one overheard and then whispered in his ear.

Ray laughed out loud. “Yer kiddin, right? Everyday?” This was too funny! “When’s this gonna happen?”

“He thinks they will be ready by tomorrow. Please don’t say –”

“’Course not, I wouldn’t miss Turnbull’s reaction fer all the money in the world!”

Susan, Ray and Turnbull ate Chinese late that evening while the nurses looked the other way. They were just thrilled to see the Mountie smiling and eating again. The trio chatted about school and kids and all matter of small talk. What, or who they did not discuss was Constable Fraser. In fact, that particular topic was carefully avoided.

Shortly before 2 the next afternoon Ray showed up at Turnbull’s door with two orderlies and a wheelchair.

“Yer chariot awaits, Sir.” Ray had caught a glimpse of what was going on in the employee’s cafeteria and was dancing with anticipation. “Come on guys, let’s get at er.”

“What’s going on Ray?” Turnbull was completely confused and more than a little reluctant to let them lift him, cast and all, out of bed.

“No questions buddy, just let these goons get ya in this chair. Yer goin’ fer a ride.”

All the tables in the cafeteria had been pushed to the walls, leaving an open area in the center of the room where chairs, orange plastic of course, had been set up in a rather make shift manner. Sitting in those chairs were several people Turnbull recognized and a few he didn’t. Almost all of them were either teachers or parents of his students. Also in attendance were Inspector Thatcher, Lt. Welsh, and Ms Vecchio. He was even more confused and rapidly becoming – frightened.

Everyone turned to acknowledge his presence but stayed in their seats. He thought he had also seen a flash of red hurry past an open door but couldn't be sure.

Back in the kitchen area Ms. Atkins was trying to keep 40 or so six and seven year old children quiet, while also attempting to keep a frazzled Constable Fraser from coming completely unglued. She was having limited success.

When they received the high sign from Ray that Turnbull was settled, Fraser took a deep breath and gathered the kids as closely together as the layout of the kitchen would allow.

Speaking softly, so only they could hear, “are we all ready? Remember what I told you. Stand up very straight, keep you arms at your sides and stay in line. When we go out there Mister Mountie will be in a wheelchair. Just remember he has some bandages and he still hurts a little, so when we’re done don’t jump all over him. Now, line up. Here we go…”

With Maria and her lovingly decorated cast leading the way, the children marched single file into the cafeteria. Turnbull had to cover his mouth to keep from laughing. All the children were dressed as Mounties, at least as best he could determine. They all wore red shirts with brown belts and…well…Stetsons. He guessed they were Stetsons, they were made of construction paper and they were brown and the children wore them on their heads. So yes, they were Stetsons. He had never seen such a sight.

As they marched into four almost perfect rows some of the kids could not help but wave at Mister Mountie. They had promised Constable Fraser they would keep their arms at their sides, so they just looked at Mister Mountie and wiggled their fingers at him. But he got the message, loud and clear.

At the end of their more or less straight line was Fraser. He, of course, was wearing a real Stetson, and carrying a guitar. He stepped out in front of the children and cleared his throat, “I have spent the last few days learning some very valuable life lessons from the group of young people standing behind me.” Lots of giggles erupted from behind him. Susan had to “shush” them. “Constable Turnbull, the children asked me to help them create a Get Well card for you. Since I could never claim to be half the artist you are I decided I should go with my strength, and we have created a musical Get Well wish.

Fraser sat in a chair next to the children and began to strum, then sing:

I was born up north of Great Slave, 1898

And I rode near all my life, on a ranch near Devil's Gate

An I seen this world around me bend and flip and change

Hey, it feels like rain it’s a thundercloud

I could be a coward but I’ve seen two world wars

And I lost my son Virgil my Korean reward

And my Lucy died last summer and you ask me if I cry

Hell I’ll show you tears they’re all over this ground

They’re falling from these blue Alberta skies

When the children joined in for the chorus Turnbull thought he would weep with delight.

But we’re gonna ride forever

You can’t keep horsemen in a cage

Should the angels call, well it’s only then

We might pull in the reins

Turnbull sat transfixed as Fraser sang the second verse and the children again sang the chorus. He had never heard or seen anything as beautiful as Constable Fraser leading the children in song. Someone had to shove a tissue at him – he hadn’t even realized there were tears streaming down his cheeks.

When the song was over the small group of adults applauded enthusiastically as Ray patted Turnbull on the shoulder.

There was obviously more to come as Fraser again addressed Turnbull and his group of well wishers in the audience. “We have one more song for Mister Mountie, so, as I believe the Americans say, you ain’t heard nothin’ yet.”

Fraser began with the verse…

Yesterday a child came out to wander

Caught a dragonfly in a jar

Fearful when the sky began to thunder

And Tearful at the falling of a star

…and the children joined in for the chorus…

And the seasons they go round and round

And the painted ponies go up and down

We’re captive on the carousel of time

We can’t return we can only look behind from where we came

And go round and round and round in the circle game

And Fraser sang…

Then the child moved 10 times round the seasons

Skated over 10 clear frozen streams

Words like when you’re older must appease them

And promises of some day make up his dreams

…and the children then joined in for the last chorus…

And the seasons they go round and round

And the painted ponies go up and down

We’re captive on the carousel of time

We can’t return we can only look behind from where we came

And go round and round and round in the circle game

When they had finished the second song Fraser gave them a brief nod and 40 children carefully descended on Mister Mountie.

There were gentle hugs, and handshakes from the more reserved boys, and a lot of questions. Over the heads of the children Turnbull saw Constable Fraser give him the ‘thumbs up’ sign. And he knew, beyond words or actions, he knew, that without conscious effort, he had finally achieved what which he had tried so hard to earn – the respect of Benton Fraser. He also knew that yes, life was indeed worth living.

The children demanded his attention, so he happily turned toward their questions: “Did you like our songs? We worked really hard every day!” “Does it still hurt?” “Can we sign your cast?” “When you coming back to school?” “Can you still go on picnics?” “Did you know Constable Fraser has a wolf? Tiffany was scared of him but he licked her hand and made her his friend.” “Constable Fraser says you were brave. We think you were.” “You gots stitches?”

“That’s _do you have_ stitches Matthew, and yes, I do." Turnbull was laughing hard enough to fell every one of those stitches.

His doctors had only grudgingly agreed to allow him to attend this performance, and then only because Fraser had convinced them that it would help speed Turnbull’s recovery. When Fraser realized that Turnbull was rapidly wearing down he decided that it was time for the surprise visit to come to an end. “Mister Mountie needs to go back to his room now, so Miss Susan will take you all to the bus.”

After a few disappointed “Ah(s)” and “Oh gee(s)” the children were gathered up and sent on their way. Fraser pushed Turnbull back to his room in silence. The same orderlies managed to get him settled in bed and then the two Mounties were alone.

“I must thank you, sir,” Turnbull began, shyly. “That's…probably the…the nicest thing any one has ever done for me.”

Fraser was also somewhat embarrassed. “It’s good to see you awake, but you probably need to get some rest…”

“Constable Fraser?” Ah, this must be the nurse Ray refers to as Angel Eyes. “I just wanted to let you know that Dr. Ross is on call tonight, so if you intend to spend the night again, you’ll have to hide Diefenbaker. Dr. Ross won’t overlook him like the others have.”

As she turned back into the hallway Ray stopped her and whispered, “Thanks, Becky. Turnbull needed ta know that Fraser’s been here all a long, and Fraser sure wouldn't ever tell em.” Angel Eyes smiled at him.

“Constable Fraser, you’ve been staying here during the night?” Turnbull felt shamefully guilty that he had ever doubted Fraser.

“Yes.”

“Thank you…for everything.”

“Turnbull, I…I want you to know –”

“Mister Mountie?” A young man dragging his father behind him had just appeared in the doorway.

“Yes, Matthew?”

“Excuse us, Constables Turnbull, Fraser. Matthew insisted that he talk to you before we left.”

“What is it, Matthew?”

“Mister Mountie tell my daddy that we haf ta move ta Canada,” Matthew pleaded.

His father was slightly irritated at the suggestion, it gets _cold_ in Canada. “Matthew, why should we move to Canada?”

“Daddy, Mister Mountie said that all Mounties are from Canada.”

Fraser frowned slightly. A nagging suspicion was growing in the back of his mind. “That’s right, Matthew, all Mounties are Canadian.”

“Well, then we gots ta move to Canada cause I wanna do that.”

“Do what Matthew?”

“When I grow up I wanna be just like him.” Matthew pointed with pride in the direction of the Mounties.

“Just like Constable Fraser?”

Matthew rolled his eyes. “No, Daddy, when we grow up, me and my friends, we all want to be just like Constable Turnbull!”

Now it was Fraser’s turn to roll his eyes. “Oh dear.”

The End

(or maybe it’s just the beginning of the whole city of Chicago filled with Turnbulls?)


End file.
